


What If, the Sequel

by CuriosityRedux



Series: Dragon Drabbles Berk [58]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hiccstrid - Freeform, tw: loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-30 04:16:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16757515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriosityRedux/pseuds/CuriosityRedux
Summary: It's that awful scene again, except this time it's Astrid instead of Stoick.





	What If, the Sequel

**What If, the Sequel**

**-**

He could feel everyone’s eyes on him. His hands trembled on the bow and arrow he struggled to pull taut, and each breath wheezed out of his raw lungs like every inhale of oxygen burned to hold in his chest. 

“Son.” His father’s voice was thick behind him. “It’s time." 

He knew. There was so little time. So few precious moments to waste while Drago sailed for Berk. Hiccup choked back a ragged sob, swallowed down the tears threatening to escape and squeezed his eyes shut. But his hands— his Thor-forsaken hands wouldn’t stop shaking. 

"Who—?” His mother had gasped when they ran to his side, putting their hands on his shoulders, his back, his hair. The grief was already surging through him more painful than any adrenaline rush as he crushed her motionless body to his chest. There was a frantic panic building in his throat, one he couldn’t force down. 

“His—” Stoick had cut off his whisper, tight with emotion. “They would’ve been wedded this harvest.”

Now, standing on the remains of what had once been a sanctuary, Hiccup was feeling a different set of hands. Ghostly fingers from warmer days. And they were making him shake. 

_“You’re left handed, so you need to hold it opposite the way I do.”_

Her gentle instruction was followed by a guiding touch, easing his grip around the bow’s smooth surface. He could feel her palms pressing at his stomach and lower back, forcing him to tighten his core. Fingertips slid up his spine, light and familiar and tugging his shoulders into place. Then her breath was tickling his neck as she rested her arm around his waist and led his elbow back. 

 _Gods_ , there was no time. He had to release the arrow. He had to while the ship was still close enough— but he couldn’t miss. This was one time she wouldn’t laugh at his terrible aim.

_“Oh come on, you can pound scrap steel into a prosthetic tailfin, but you can’t hold a silly bowstring? Pull it tighter.”_

He almost thought that if he looked away from the torn sails— if he glanced out of the corner of his eye, he’d catch a glimpse of silver-gold hair brushing his arm. Maybe a teasing pair of blue eyes. But no. Those pools were frozen over forever. And he’d watched while Ruff silently tugged those glimmering curls into a marriage braid. 

“Son…” Stoick breathed again. Berk was waiting. A chief protects his own. 

_“Good. Perfect. Now, when I step back, you let go, okay? Both eyes open. Don’t try and hit the center— aim for the whole thing.”_

Hiccup swallowed. Tears were burning hot streaks down his cheeks. His arms burned with the effort of holding the bow in place. The string cut into the soft underside of his fingers. 

_“Alright. You ready?"_

He inhaled slowly, the sound shaky and uneven. “Ready.”

_"Okay. Let go.”_

And before the rising sob could destroy the posture she’d perfected, he did. 


End file.
